Cosmo || Doctor Who

63 : Let It All Out

𝔏𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔫, 𝔈𝔫𝔤𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡, 𝔈𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔥
𝔖𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 1599

When dawn rose above the skyline, a yellowish blue covered the entirety of London, and yet, despite its glowing warmth, there was very little of that inside of The Elephant Inn. There was silence among them as Dolly Bailey was carted away, and a question upon their lips.

     As the Doctor queried the events silently, EJ was unsure what to do with himself. He couldn't call Josh, or any of his friends, because a mobile would be far too much to explain on top of everything else. Naturally, he'd not brought any of his sketching materials either. It seemed that he was in a little bit of a sticky situation.

     EJ found himself comfortable in one of the chairs, feet resting upon the desk, careful not to spill any of the ink. Martha was beside him as they both looked to the Doctor for some guidance, but he had his head buried into his hands, so seemed useless for the time being.

     "Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey..." Shakespeare sighed as he stared from the window. "She sat three bouts of plague in this place. We all ran like rats. But what could have scared her so? She had such enormous spirit."

  Finally lifting his head, the Doctor rested his chin upon the backs of his hands. "Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

  "Though wise men at their end know dark is right." EJ continued, mindlessly. "Because their words had formed no lightening, they do not go, he broke into that good night."

  "I might use that." Shakespeare mused.

  "You can't." Said the Doctor, bluntly. "It's someone else's."

  "But the thing is, Lynley drowned on dry land, Dolly Bailey died of fright," Martha spoke confidently, though she seemed unconvinced. "And they were both connected to you."

  "Alright, Poirot." EJ scoffed, tongue in cheek.

  Shakespeare was in a similar mind as he turned to face her. "Are you accusing me?"

  "No, but I saw a witch!" She exclaimed, words spilling out of her like a fountain. "Big as you like, cackling away, and you've written about witches."

  "I have?" An eyebrow raised in her direction. "When was that?"

  The Doctor's eyes flickered at her, warily. "Not... quite yet."

  "MacBeth." EJ relayed the information, quietly. "1606."

  "Peter Streete spoke of witches."

  Suddenly, all eyes were upon Shakespeare, and Martha was the first to question it. "Who's Peter Streete?"

  "Our builder." His nonchalance was concerning, almost. "He sketched the plans to the Globe."

  "The architect." The Doctor nodded in agreement before rising to his feet with more excitement. "Hold on, the architect! The architect! The Globe! Come on!"

     Before they knew what the Doctor meant, he had already left the room, and was halfway down the outside stairs. EJ was as fast as he could be, and he assumed Martha and Shakespeare were right behind them. The streets were busier than they had been the night before, and more so beautiful now. EJ only wished that they could have more time there, because he was sure he would have adored it.

     The Globe was even more beautiful in the daylight. He didn't realise just how wonderful his life was until the days like these when he was surrounded by such wonder. His life had been so boring before. EJ would never be able to go back to a usual life, that much he was certain, and he wondered just how Martha would manage.